


Not Quite As Planned

by breathtaken



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Bad Sex, Canon Era, Multi, Polyamory, Sub!Athos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 09:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1740185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathtaken/pseuds/breathtaken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love and desire don't mean that things always go smoothly in the bedroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Night Before the Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings: One oblique reference to vomiting.

"Careful," Porthos chides as he feels the unpleasant scrape of teeth along the underside of his cock for the third time in as many minutes. "Watch your teeth, darling."

Aramis mumbles something unintelligible, possibly mostly to himself, and moves to licking up and down Porthos' only half-hard shaft.

Porthos is too drunk for this, really.

Aramis is _definitely_ too drunk for this.

"What did I say?" Athos remarks to the room at large, and Porthos twists himself round to make a face at him, realising that Athos may be right when the room tilts alarmingly.

Athos is sprawled on his back in only his smallclothes, one leg hanging entirely off the bed. His right arm is curled round a still half-full bottle of wine in a possessive gesture that from anyone else would make Porthos laugh.

As it is, he just grins lopsidedly in response to Athos' raised eyebrow.

They both know he can't resist Aramis when he wants something, even against his own better judgement.

"Just because your alcohol tolerance would be the envy of Bacchus," Aramis slurs up from between Porthos' legs, before diving back down onto Porthos' cock with a speed and enthusiasm that's positively alarming, given his level of inebriation.

"Hey, hey, hey." Porthos grabs Aramis' hair and pulls him gently back. "Careful."

"Please. We all remember last time," Athos comments dourly. "And I for one am not cleaning it up again."

"'mfine," Aramis mumbles around the head of Porthos' cock, but at least doesn't try and swallow it whole again.

"And as for your previous comment, Aramis," Athos continues, "I seem to be the only one here who's realised that when celebrating one needs to choose either copious amounts of alcohol _or_ coitus, and not attempt both."

Porthos knows he shouldn't laugh. He really shouldn't, but something about the sound of a drunk Athos slurring the word 'coitus' in place of his normally so clipped aristocratic tone sets him off in a fit of what even the most charitable observer would describe as giggles.

He hears Athos sigh dramatically from behind him, which only makes it worse.

When Aramis hiccups around the head of his cock, he doubles over entirely, sides aching with laughter.

"Up you come," he wheezes between great gasps of air, grasping Aramis by the shoulders and encouraging him off his cock and up onto the bed. "I'm afraid it's not happening tonight. Let's just sleep it off, eh?"

"What about me?" Aramis whines as he sprawls back on the bed next to Porthos, punctuating his words with another hiccup.

"Aramis, you're not even hard," Athos points out, palming Aramis' cock through his smallclothes in a way that's more clinical than anything else.

"Mm," Aramis screws up his face so comically that Porthos would swear he can see the cogs turning in his brain. "Maybe you're right."

"I normally am," Athos replies, deadpan.

Suppressing a chuckle, Porthos goes to piss; and when he comes back not thirty seconds later Aramis has already passed out, lying half on his front with one arm and leg hooked over an unimpressed-looking Athos, and snoring softly.

"He's going to be a nightmare in the morning," Athos says quietly, hand coming up to smooth Aramis' hair away from his face all the same.

Porthos smiles. "Luckily for you, I’m pretty sure it's my turn."

"As if I'd let you forget," Athos replies with the hint of a smile; and Porthos can't help grinning to himself as he turns to blow the candle out.


	2. It's Not For Everyone

Aramis would be the first to say that he usually has the best ideas – especially in the bedroom. That he's blessed with a finely-honed sense for what his lovers will enjoy, and how best to help them expand their horizons.

It's a bitter draught to have to swallow to realise that he may not be _quite_ so good at this as he'd thought.

He pushes in a little further – and stills his fingers immediately when Porthos hisses again.

Aramis has only got two fingers inside him, up to the second knuckle; but according to Porthos it started out weird, quickly became unpleasant, and doesn't seem to be getting any better.

"Maybe we should stop, if you're not enjoying this," Aramis says uncomfortably.

"You said it takes a bit of time to get used to," Porthos replies, sounding tense. "Just – careful, and let's give it another minute."

"If you're sure," Athos says, with a warning glare at Aramis, who resists the urge to stick his tongue out at him.

Instead Aramis keeps his fingers very still, counting slowly to ten in his head before rubbing the flats of his fingertips ever so carefully over the firm spot inside that he himself draws so much pleasure from.

Porthos jerks, and almost kicks him in the face.

"Woah!"

"Better?" Aramis replies, smirk already forming on the right side of his mouth.

"God, that's horrible!" Porthos replies without thinking, and then looks repentant as he sees Aramis' face fall. "Sorry, but it's just not working for me."

"I think he's done," Athos replies, putting a hand on Aramis' shoulder, voice sympathetic.

"Yeah, I think you're right. Aramis, could you pull out please?" Porthos asks, and then hisses again as Aramis starts to withdraw his fingers. " _Slowly._ "

Aramis slides his fingers out of Porthos' body approximately twice as slowly as he would out of his own, trying to suppress the mixture of sadness and frustration that's sloshing around inside him like sour wine.

It's nobody's fault really; not his, and definitely not Porthos'. They are all different, after all, and he's always known it isn't for everyone.

He'd just hoped he would be able to introduce Porthos to something he'd love.

(And if he's honest with himself, maybe he'd also hoped that he would get to take one of them himself for a change, rather than always being taken.)

He wipes his oily fingers off on a rag, and when he looks up again Athos is there, tilting his jaw and kissing him with a gentleness he doesn't often show.

"It doesn't work for everyone," he says softly, mirroring Aramis' own thoughts.

"How would you know?" Porthos asks, sitting up and taking Aramis' hand in his. "Tried it, have you?"

"Lord, no," Athos screws up his face in distaste. " _Diamērizein_ 1 is one thing, but then I draw the line."

 _Now there's an idea,_ Aramis thinks, and immediately feels his mood lift again as he realises there's something he _can_ teach Porthos after all.

"Of course – I knew your classical education would come in handy one day, Athos my friend," Aramis replies, tipping an imaginary hat. "Would you like to go first, or may I?"

Athos smirks, and nods at him in clear invitation. "Be my guest."

"What are we doing now?" Porthos asks. "Dia-what?"

"Legs up and together, Porthos, and I'll show you," Aramis replies cheerfully. "Athos, pass the oil."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 The Greek term for intercrural sex.


	3. Not Yet

Athos can't remember the last time he struggled to suppress a chuckle. He's definitely surprised that this time it's caused by listening to Aramis doing a positively uncanny impression of an old woman from where he's half-lying in Porthos' lap.

He gathers from the conversation that the widow had seen Porthos at Mass and taken a fancy to him, and that Porthos had had some difficulty persuading her he really was only there for the service; and the thought of painfully kind and earnest Porthos trying to let a persistent lady down gently is enough to make him smile all on its own.

Porthos _is_ laughing, quite enough for the both of them.

"Aramis, behave," he chides jokingly, "or I'll have to put you over my knee."

The image is in Athos' mind before he can stop it – Aramis, bare from the waist down with Porthos' hand on the back of his neck, pushing him into the bed as the other hand comes down on Aramis' arse –

– and he's not even involved, but the very idea of it makes him feel horribly embarrassed and somehow fearful all at the same time, though he doesn't understand what he might be scared of.

"Athos. Are you alright?" Aramis asks, looking at him in concern. "You've gone white as a sheet."

"I'm fine," Athos replies; noticing that he's gripping the bedsheet, and forcing himself to relax his fingers.

His pulse is thundering furiously between his thighs.

No, he knows what this means, and it's not the first time something has – well. Taken him by surprise like this.

It's making him feel vaguely sick.

"If you're sure," Aramis replies, seemingly unconvinced; but then his expression changes entirely as he looks back up at Porthos and winks. "Anyway, Porthos, what makes you think that would be a good deterrent?"

"You do that?" Athos asks before he can stop himself.

"Why not?" Aramis replies, looking back at him with an easy smile. "It's all good fun."

Athos could use a lot of words to describe it, but _fun_ wouldn't be one of them.

"It doesn't sound very dignified," Athos protests, though he's not really sure why.

"It's not supposed to be dignified, it's supposed to be erotic." Aramis grins. "I can always show you?"

Whatever Athos was about to say stoppers in his throat for a moment, and all he can do is stare helplessly back at Aramis, knowing that they can both read him all too well.

He refuses to imagine himself involved in… _that._ It's just too much.

His only small comfort is that they've been here before, and hopefully he won't need to explain what's going on in his mind.

When he doesn't reply, Aramis pushes himself out of Porthos' lap, and takes Athos' hands in his. "Have I gone too far?" Athos shakes his head mutely, still not sure what to say. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise."

"You couldn't have," Athos manages to say, eyes flicking between their two worried faces. "Neither did I."

Porthos leans forward, putting a hand on Athos' knee. "Something you want to try?"

"No. Not – not yet."

"Then how about we get in bed, and I'll tell you both a story?" Aramis suggests, already drawing the edge of the blanket back.

Athos nods, feeling a rush of gratitude. "I'd like that."

They pull off their shirts and climb under the blankets, Aramis quite deliberately clambering over Athos to slide in behind him, keeping him in between them.

Aramis presses himself up against Athos' back, half-hard; and Athos knows this is Aramis' attempt at reassurance, letting Athos feel for himself just how much he likes this too. Porthos lies facing him, an arm on Athos' waist and Athos' hand grasped in his, but a few inches between their bodies, allowing him space.

Aramis' hand comes to rest lightly on Athos' hip. "If you want us to touch you, just ask," he murmurs near Athos' ear. "Or just take my hand, and put it wherever you'd like.

"Now, I'm going to tell you both the story of Maria, a lady of my acquaintance who works in one of the finest bawdy houses Paris has to offer, and whose company is sought after by its most discerning men. Now, Maria is not an easy lady to please. In fact, she insists on a _disciplined_ customer, as I discovered myself one evening…"

Lulled by Aramis' soft voice and their hands on him, Athos closes his eyes and listens, allowing himself to imagine all the things Aramis is describing. The very idea of it still makes him flush with shame, but with them either side of him, keeping him grounded, that shame starts to feel less overwhelming and more… _intriguing_.

He imagines Aramis over a woman's knee, over Porthos' knee – himself over Porthos' knee – and that makes his breath hitch. Aramis pauses, and he squeezes both their hands in reassurance, silent encouragement. He's hard, but is content to just appreciate the feeling for now, and not seek to satisfy it.

One day soon they'll try this, and it will no doubt be equal parts unnerving and wonderful; but not yet, and Athos decides he's happy with that.

 


End file.
